


The Spider's Son

by Talc



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Giant Spiders, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Cuddling, Non-Consensual Kissing, Other, Possession, Spiders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talc/pseuds/Talc
Summary: The Mother of Puppets plays a long game, and Jonathan Sims has always been a key player in it.
Relationships: Annabelle Cane & Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & The Web, Jonathan Sims/Mr. Spider, Jonathan Sims/The Web
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	The Spider's Son

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter takes place during different times in the story so they each have spoilers for different seasons, this one has spoilers up until episode 98.

Jude Perry. Michael Crew. Sarah Baldwin. Nikola Orsinov. Jon had been meeting with a lot of monsters these days. Hell, might as well throw his former boss in there too! Monsters all around and it should be no surprise when another came up out of the woodwork.

Jon had just been leaving Georgie’s apartment when he saw him; bland, passive, unassuming. Dangerously unassuming. The sort of unnoticeable that fills the streets in hoards and crowds, never to be made out singularly among thousands. The faces of those who don’t matter, who never matter. Hollow. Empty. Meaningless. 

He’s standing across the street right now, dressed all in black save for his white shirt and red tie. He’s holding a brief case, immaculate leather and worn copper latches. He’s smiling with no teeth showing, no emotion in his eyes. 

His glasses don’t even have lenses.

Jon is immediately suspicious. His natural instinct was just to turn around, go back into Georgie’s apartment, lock the doors and windows, seal up the cracks with tape and turn off the lights. Perhaps confine the Admiral to the living room, call Georgie and tell her not to come home tonight ‘it’s too dangerous,’ wait out the oncoming danger.

However, he has an aching, unwonted feeling in the back of his mind that if he turns around right now he will never make it to the door. So, he stares and the man, whatever he is, stares back.

The street is otherwise empty. Early afternoon on a weekday and everyone is busy at work or school or what have you. No one to witness this meeting…Not that it matters.

“What do you want?” Jon calls out, trying his hardest to put all that meaningful compulsion into his words, though at this point there’s no really turning it off, not when his emotions were so high.

The man just continues to smile, though, placid and silent.

_“What do you want?” _ Jon tries again. No response. He takes a step back, startling when the man finally moves from his spot on the sidewalk, taking a step forward. And another. And another and another until he’s standing at the curb, close enough for Jon to really look at his eyes; dull, grey, empty.

It’s unnerving, singularly unnerving, but you can’t run from monsters, Jon knows that now. And…He doesn’t really want to. Despite all self-preserving logic, he wants to know what this is, what they want. Another of Orsinov’s grunts here to threaten him? Perhaps another hive like Prentiss; if it opens it’s mouth will a swarm of locust fly out? A skin suit? A Lukas? Is it-

The man is reaching out his hand towards Jon, palm out as if asking for a handshake. After Jude Perry it feels more like a threat than offer of introduction and he knows he should not take the hand. Yet…He doesn’t know how, but his hand is already in the grasp of the unassuming man. Not grabbed, but reached out on its own, willingly shaking it, but not by any choice of himself. It’s almost autonomic, like an eye blinking at an approaching foreign object.

The man’s smile widens and things get fuzzy after that. Jon knows his hand is still being held, used to lead him along the street. Not pulled but led as his feet move at seemingly his own volition, following along with the monster, letting himself be guided to what is certainly a bad time. His body no longer feels like his own. Jon is aware of disassociation, had experienced it, even, and this feels like that but…But not quite. He can almost see his body walking along the street, a third person eagle eye silently watching himself and this monster just strolling along. He can’t move and he can’t think, he can’t even wonder what’s going on.

Then he is somewhere else, and he has no idea how he got there. Assumedly he was led to this building by the man, but nothing about that feels right. Nothing about _any_ of this feels right, and he almost starts to believe this is the work of something like Michael; his own mind is lying to itself, this monster is not what he seems, it’s all a distortion, the man isn’t even there anymore! Jonathan Sims is standing alone on a street he does not know before a door that he…does…know.

Rationally he knows he should run, that whatever he should do he should not touch the door before him. It’s not bright yellow. He sees it clearly, he knows this will not lead him into the Spiral. No, the door is dark oak with a brass handle. Typical. Unassuming.

He should _not_ knock on the door.

He’s already knocked on the door.

* * *

It’s exactly as he remembers the pictures in the book to be; the empty room, the two doors and the table with the sad, withering flowers. There are no inky brown stains, no blood, and no Mr. Spider, but the intent is clear enough. Is this really necessary? He hasn’t read the book in years, is under no onus to it and it’s not like the spiders, The Web, haven’t contacted him before without the dramatics. Jon remembers the lighter he still keeps on his person at all times, the web design on it. He reaches into his pocket now and runs his fingers over the grooves of the webs, finding comfort in the design. And the fact that he can move his own body again by his own will.

He thinks about the table the NotThem was tied to, the spider on the wall. All those statements, the papers covered in cobwebs. What do they want?

“What do you want?” He says out loud. Jon’s not a fool, he knows he’s not alone. Not that he’s ever felt alone in a very long time, the constant watch of the monster in the institute is almost ever-present, but this is different. Something else is here in this room.

There’s a moment of silence before his suspicions are confirmed; the slow clip of footsteps coming from behind him. He doesn’t move.

“You’re getting better at that.” A voice says at his ear. Two hands on his shoulders, pressing down until he’s sitting in a chair that was definitely not there before. “So nice to see you again, Jonathan Sims.” Lips right at his ear, but there is no warmth, no breath, just cold skin and sound.

Jon doesn’t say anything, less because he has no questions and more so because his jaw no longer seems to cooperate with his intentions. He tries to open his mouth, desperately tries with all his strength and energy, but no matter what he does his body just. Won’t. Cooperate. It’s terrifying, unnerving, and terribly annoying.

The lips withdraw and then the monster, whatever it is, steps into view.

It’s not the same man as before, but it might as well be. Same bland, unassuming features, same suit and tie, same lenseless glasses and toothless smile. Same blank, lifeless eyes. It looks like the thing that led him here, but it’s not. The red bowler hat on it’s head is not the indication, though. It’s something in the smile, in the way it tips it’s head to the side, makes Jon feel like he’s looking at an optical illusion. Like there’s two pieces of film before him, sliding over one another and obscuring them both.

_“Sometimes not being able to see something is actually quite a good thing.”_ That’s what Nikola Orsinov had said when she stood in Georgie’s apartment. Through the flickering shape of this monster, he’s starting to understand what she meant.

The man leans forward, cupping Jon’s jaw with both hands and placing a chaste kiss on his forehead.

He shivers, an autonomic reaction to what doesn’t feel like a chaste kiss. For those are not lips on his head and the hands cradling his cheeks are certainly not hands. There is no mistaking the scraping of two sharp pricks on his skin as lips and not the fangs that they are, no point in pretending the rough and hairy touch on his face are anything but pedipalps. No reason to lie and say there isn’t a spider standing before him.

With this revelation he finds his own skin again, flinches away with a sour glare.

“You’ve grown so nicely, Jonathan.” The thing claiming to be a man says. “You were such a scrawny little thing last we met. Barely a morsel.”

“And what am I now, a meal?” Jon finds himself muttering, sardonic and frankly annoyed.

“Oh no no no, you are so much more.” The ‘man’ smiles, wide and placid, eyes glinting from underneath those bare glasses. “Tell me; did you think we abandoned you? I want to know. I want to know if you understand.”

There was not an ounce of Jonathan Sims that ever believed the spiders had truly left. Not just in the physical sense, he’s not an idiot; of course there are always spiders around. No, he was aware of their presence in the back of his mind, like someone had settled in there and built a thick corner of webs, letting it spread thread by thread, day by days until they were imperceptible. Years of constant paranoia led him to simply squash those feelings like the spiders under the heel of his shoe, but that never made them go away. Mostly it had been wishful thinking to believe that he had truly escaped. Even now, knowing he has been grasped by a different ‘entity’ he’s aware that the spiders, The Web, never truly left him alone.

“No,” He responds, finding himself incapable of lying, “I did not.”

“Of course you didn’t.” A hand is placed on his shoulder, placating and comforting except for the fact that the two hands that were holding his face are still there, and one is sneaking up into his hair. “Mother would never abandon you, not when you’re doing so well.”

“Mother?”

“Our Mother of Puppets, of course. She brought us to you. To me.” The façade is slowly unraveling with every word and touch, spiraling away like the peel of an apple right down to the chitinous core until the real Mr. Spider stands before Jon, much too close for comfort.

He’s suitably frightened, what with the giant spider looming over him, with twitching pedipalps and sharp legs, lined with fine, fine hairs. Bright red eyes emerge from a body black as night, in places spiders should not have eyes. They blink uncomfortably out of sync, all staring at Jonathan Sims.

He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t. Want. To be. Here. Jon grits his teeth and stresses his muscles as he tries to break free from his arachnid captive, but it is to no effect; no matter how hard he tries his limbs are not listening to him. Even his mouth is relaxing under the hold of the Web, falling into an emotionless line, his eyelids lowering. He can physically feel his heart rate slow down, with each beat getting less and less frantic.

It’s terrifying. There is nothing to describe telling your body to move and watching as nothing happens, of feeling that space does not move with you. Even worse, though, is when your body moves without your consent. If it’s your body, but it does it on its own, was it still your action? Of course it is. When you really think about, everyone is a puppet in their own body. Why, there are so many parts of your body you could never hope to control. You’re just a passenger. A string in an immense tapestry. When you realise that, things don’t matter anymore. Jon knows that now. It’s futile to resist, he should just give in. Because even his thoughts aren’t his own anymore.

“There you are, there’s a nice boy.” Mr. Spider is crooning, the leg in Jon’s hair petting him as if he were a small animal. “Calm right down for me, thank you.”

Jon has so many questions to ask, but none of them make it past the fog in his mind.

“Just relax, Jonathan, and I will tell you all you need to know.”

He doesn’t try to relax, but there is a clear moment where he stops fighting it. Like a string being snapped, he sags just a little, control being returned just enough for him to choose not to take it. He feels like the spider above him is smiling a wide, toothless smile though, of course, it isn’t. It’s sharp, pointy mouth can only click open and closed, a spittering, spattering maw.

“We’re very proud of all you’ve done so far. We’re proud of how nicely you are developing.” Another uncomfortable kiss to his forehead. “Something is coming, Jonathan. A turning point in your tale is on the horizon, and we will be there along the way, waiting in the wings. We will see you make your choice, make the _right_ choice, the one you were always meant to make, and we will be _so proud_.”

The admiration there in Mr. Spider’s voice is grotesquely genuine, as if this monster that had terrorized him as a child genuinely cares about him, about his development as…What, as the Archivist? As whatever thing Elias is turning him into? He’s turning himself into…

“What do you want from me?” Jon asks, the words rasping out his lips without his intention, slow and deliberate.

The ruby eyes of Mr. Spider glint in the lowlight. “Exactly what you are giving us.” It responds.

“Why me?” The words feel heavy on his tongue, like every consonant is another weight being added to his jaw, locking up his only weapon.

The spider shivers, every leg twitching, just a hair, from top to bottom. “No reason in particular.” It answers plainly. “Suppose you’re just…Lucky.”

Jon musters up his most withering look in his puppeted state. “I do not feel lucky.”

Mr. Spider laughs, jolly and not at all sinister which is probably the more disturbing part of it. “You’re so sweet.” Jon has no moment to protest before his lower face is engulfed in spider mouth, firmly holding his jaw in place between its chelicerae. He gags immediately. It is an unpleasant experience to be kissed by a giant spider; the taste is dusty and rotten, like the mildew buildup in a basement mixed with wet cement, he can feel every single hair rubbing against his skin as rough as a broom head and- ugh spiders _do not_ have tongues so what is this thing in his mouth?!

He screws his eyes shut and tries not to think about it.

It's in no way pleasurable, nor really tolerable. There's not much he can do, though, and continues to let the spider touch him against his will, let the long and pointy legs wrap around him like a lover's embrace straight from the debt's of some rather adventurous horror movie, let the corpse taste linger in his mouth, let the probably venomous teeth scrape over the skin around his lips. It's not a particularly passionate kiss, and if he didn't know any better he would call it chaste...Perhaps filthily chaste. An affection consumption of the lower of half of his face. 

When the kiss is over, Jon opens his eyes and…He’s sitting on Georgie’s couch. Alone.

If you’d asked him where he’d been all day, he’d have no idea how to answer. Had…Had he even been awake? He certainly hadn’t…Left the flat or had…

He spots a spider crawling across the carpet, watches as the Admiral chases after it and stares stock still as he catches the arachnid in his paws, crushing down the little monstrosity into a pile of bug guts and chitin.

“Good job.” Jon smiles, watching the cat trot to the couch in self satisfaction and proceed to rub all over him until he’s properly covered in fine hairs and has a large pile of fluff purring on his chest.

He forgets to be confused.

**Author's Note:**

> i just think there's a severe lack of jon being courted by The Web in disturbing and unnecessary ways.


End file.
